


Beatus Vir

by velvetcadence



Series: Beatus Vir [1]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Age Difference, Biblical References, Blasphemy, Blow Jobs, Charles You Slut, Choirboy Charles, Cross yourself before and after reading, Dubious Consent, Erik has Feelings, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, M/M, Poor Erik, Priest Erik, Priest Kink, Read at Your Own Risk, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-18
Updated: 2013-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-01 23:45:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvetcadence/pseuds/velvetcadence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik’s descent to hell began with a whisper, a breathy, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beatus Vir

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated especially to the horrible, horrible people who have egged me on over at Skype: Cat, Kage, Di, Chem, Rum and Mon.
> 
> Now with a podfic my Ausmetallen. You can listen to it [here!](http://ausmetallen.tumblr.com/post/89237431915/beatus-vir-velvetcadence-eriks-descent-to-hell)

Erik’s descent to hell began with a whisper, a breathy, “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.” Through the screen of the confessional, Erik could make out only the color of the boy’s lips, bitten down so much in worry that it was reddened like a wanton woman’s. He paid heed to the softly accented voice, and the silence was a reverence in itself.

Erik only heard confession once a week since his assignment to this particular parish, and every week hence the boy anticipated his schedule, confiding in him the dirty leavings of his mind, whispering how no matter how hard he tried not to touch himself, he could never resist moving against the mattress, muffling his mouth against the pillow so that no one could hear. He confessed that there was a man that stirred his belly and made him tremble at the mere sight of him, that this man was a man of God, the most holy and pious of men, and the boy was so in love with him it felt like Jesus’ agony in the garden.

The priest sweated under his cassock. The boy was looking directly at him through the screen, the yellow light of the afternoon haloing his face and hair. He looked impossibly young and nubile, and Erik’s veins trembled, for the trouble of celibate souls was that it was easier to lead them to temptation.

Were it any other week, his voice would have remained steady as he instructed the boy to pray an Our Father, three Hail Marys and one Glory Be in addition to the Act of Contrition. It was the same formula he gave to all of his confessors, save for those whose sins were grievous enough to warrant a whole rosary. Erik spread the decades of his rosary throughout the whole day so that he would always be in the middle of prayer; still, it was no protection against the attraction Erik felt for the choirboy with the strange, red smile.

Instead, the door of the confessional creaked open, and the boy slipped in, his robes swishing with the movement.

“You’re not allowed here,” Erik murmured, his eyes roving over the boy’s flushed features, the points of his nipples clear through the white cloth.

“Forgive me, Father,” the boy said again, and he knelt to make himself smaller, rounding his shoulders so that Erik had to reach out and warm his shoulder with a comforting hand. That close, he smelled like fresh dough, and Erik imagined that the scent was already twining through the threads of his clothes.

“What are you doing? You have to leave.”

“You say one thing and mean another, Father,” the boy murmured, “How can I discern what’s right when you confuse me so?”

“The Lord sees and hears all sinful acts,” Erik retaliated helplessly. “Besides, this is His house.”

“Then God be my witness.”

Erik’s mind stopped all thought as the boy leaned up to kiss him, the moist press of his lips a point of static, and his whole body surged with fire. He jerked backward, ready to put an end to this madness when the sight of the boy with eyes half-lidded in desire caught him, and before he knew it, he was leaning in to claim that lurid mouth, drinking in its sins and secrets like it was honey and wine.

By the time he was out of breath and had to pull away, he had already become aware that they were embracing each other with a fierce desperation . He sucked the clean sweat of the boy’s neck and reawakened the hungers that he had kept at bay since his decision to cleave to Christ.

“F-Father!” The boy gasped, and Erik returned to a compromised kind of lucidity, the spell not broken but fogged with the boy’s reminder of his title. Erik took a breath and slowly pulled away, regaining more and more of whatever shattered sense of morality he had left.

The boy tightened his grip. “Please, Father. I don’t ask for much, only this. Only this moment,” he pleaded, and his face was so guileless and so vulnerable Erik was moved to pity, thumbing away the tears tracking down his cheeks. The thumb dropped to the bow of his lips, and Erik was lost to sin once more as the boy took it in his mouth and suckled. He hid his gaze under the sweep of his lashes, the gentle bite of his teeth closing around Erik’s knuckle. His cheeks hollowed, and it was less of a proposition and more of a promise as his gaze burned into Erik’s again, bright with desire and dependent on Erik’s pleasure.

 _Where had this boy learned whore’s tricks?_ Erik wondered helplessly.

“I think about you, Father. I watch you turn the pages of the Bible and wonder what it’s like to kiss you. I listen to the Gospel and think how badly I want you to touch me.”

“Stop,” Erik said, holding a hand to the boy’s mouth. He hadn’t been aware he’d been voicing his thoughts aloud until the boy was drawing him in with sweetened words. A tongue darted out between the spaces of his fingers, and the boy palmed him through his cassock, parting the garment to get to the slacks underneath.

“Father, you’re…” The boy licked his lips. “I want to taste you.”

 _Lord, grant me strength._ Erik prayed, his spirit in turmoil, but his flesh all-too willing. The first tentative touch was electric. Erik clenched his jaw as a fingertip traced the circumcision scar on his cock and the vein filling his flesh with blood until he was firm enough to hold. The boy gripped him surely, and it was quick work for that palm and those fingers to slide up the length of his shaft, the glide made easy by the humidity of his skin and the wetness seeping from the tip.

Each slide up was a jolt, and the air grew tainted with their heat and sweat as the boy bent down and breathed over Erik’s desire, an adventurous hand reaching deeper under his clothes to bare him down to the balls. Erik swallowed against his clerical collar, wanting to reach at his nape to unbutton it, but he found that he could neither tear his hands away from the boy’s soft hair, nor stop him when he swallowed him deep in his mouth and gave a powerful, toe-curling suck.

Erik surged, arching forwards as the boy continued to force a rise out of him. It had been far too long since he’d been touched with any kind of romantic intention. Even a sloppy blowjob from a youth unwound him. The boy choked when his cock hit the back of his throat, and Erik eased, giving the boy just enough time to breathe and be shocked at the spray of hot come landing on his open mouth and cheeks. Erik took himself in hand, ready to spend himself on his own palm, on his handkerchief, _something,_ but the boy greedily took his aching prick in hand and drank in the rest.

Erik watched as he grew sleepy and kittenish in his lap, perfectly content to nuzzle his thigh and pet at Erik’s softening cock. In the heat and haze of afterglow, it was difficult to think beyond the walls of the confessional. The boy was especially distracting as he gathered the come from his face and sucked it from his fingers.

“Why do you do that?”

The boy let a finger slip out of his mouth with a pop. “Onan was struck down for wasting his seed on the ground. I wouldn’t want the Lord to be displeased with the sight of me,” the boy grinned, cheeky, and Erik consoled himself with the fact that he at least had learned some knowledge from the Holy Bible, though it seemed, not the least bit of wisdom.

When the boy kissed him, Erik did not fight it, despite the cold dread that was beginning to weigh like a stone in his stomach. How could he face his people now without feeling shame? How could he look into the eyes of this boy’s parents without remembering how exquisite he looked, how wanton and sinful he had been?

“Pray for guidance, Charles,” Erik hoarsely whispered, though what he meant to say was, _I am not meant to shepherd my flock anymore._

The boy was oblivious, struck deaf by what he thought was love, and as he stood, Erik saw that he was naked under his robes, and that he had obviously spent himself while paying...lip service.

“I will see you next week, Father,” the boy smiled widely, giddy at his conquest, all the fatalities and weaknesses of youth encapsulated in a handsome face. Erik watched him go with a wistful, lost sense of self.

The priest buttoned his slacks and his robes, pausing before taking his clerical collar off. He stared at the piece of stiff cloth for a long time. Then he sighed and whispered particularly to no one, “No, I don’t expect you will.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> "Beatus vir, qui timet Dominum."
> 
> "Blessed is the man who fears the Lord."
> 
> ~Psalm 112


End file.
